


Keep Carrying On

by wallywesticle



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: M/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallywesticle/pseuds/wallywesticle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one had to know what he was thinking. No one had to ask him how he was feeling. No one had to worry about his mental health. It was bad enough everyone worried about his daydreaming while shooting the damned creatures running at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Carrying On

It always happened in the rain. That sick, angry feeling he always got. The way he felt like taking the pistol in his hand and pressing the barrel to his head, pulling the trigger and letting darkness wash over him. But he never did. Instead, he put on that smile that became his trademark in this world and carried on.

Sure, it wasn't the best way to do things, but it sure as hell was the easiest. No one had to know what he was thinking. No one had to ask him how he was feeling. No one had to worry about his mental health. It was bad enough everyone worried about his daydreaming while shooting the damned creatures running at him.

Daydreaming…

Is that really what they had started calling it? Or was that really what it had seemed like he was doing? Either way, they were stupid and unknowing. If it weren't that he was surrounded by his teammates and a horde of zombies, he might have actually laughed bitterly. Instead, he persevered, fighting back the horde as best he could. His momma always told him to never do anything half-assed anyways. Zombie killing included.

A screech flooded their ears in the distance, making the mechanic's blood run cold and his stomach drop dramatically. As if the crowd wasn't bad enough…

His eyes scanned the air as he desperately- oh god, so desperately- pushed the rotting beings away from him, trying to find the hunter before it found him. He only succeeded when finding it land upon Rochelle, throwing her on to her stomach. Upon running over to save her, he found it pathetically futile. The hunter had already left deep gashes in her stomach and clawed out her eyes. Saving her would be more of a burden than a help. But his love for Rochelle made it hard for him to move on. Biting back a scream, he aimed to shoot but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. It was Coach.

"It's too late, Ellis… There ain't any saving her. Go have Nick patch you up. You took quite a beating out there." His words were spoken gently as if to a little kid. It only forced more anger to bubble in his veins, hands clenching the gun he held. Sure, he'd go over to Nick, but there was no way he was getting patched up. Why did he deserve it anyway?

Nick wiped some of the infected blood from his forehead, letting out a groan. Ellis could tell easily that he was done with all this work. All this mourning. It didn't matter to him. Nothing ever did. As long as the gambler would make it out of this smoothly, or something of the sort, he'd be happy as he could possibly be. And this agitated Ellis to his very core. Of course, he always acted as though Nick was someone he always wished to be like. Someone that he hoped would always be one of his friends…

No, Nick would never be one of his friends.

He knew too well that Nick hated him. It was obvious to him, obvious to everyone. And all he wanted was for Nick to look at him with some sort of admiration. Tell him he did a good job and just for once mean it.

Why? Why was that so important to him? Why couldn't he care less about what the conman thought of him? That's right, his undying love. Or at least, that's what Ellis found it to be. Sure, he loved Rochelle and could barely stand losing her, but if he were to lose Nick, well, the team was sure to lose Ellis too.

"You need to get your head out of your ass, overalls, and pay attention. You're going to get infected with how things are going." The harsh words stole him from his thoughts, cornflower blue eyes looking up at the owner of the gruff voice. His lips curled into a small smile, wiping away distraught tears from his eyes. He could properly mourn Rochelle's death later, right?

"I ain't gunna get infected, Nick. Yew think I'm stupid er somethin'?" His voice was lighthearted, tone easy going and airy. Ah, and the older male thought he was good at lying.

"Come here. You need to cover that wound." Nick stepped forward, pulling the med-kit off his back. The hick took a step back, grabbing his injured shoulder and hiding his wince.

"That? Oh, that ain't nothin'! Ain't no reason to cover that shit up." He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his own crimson blood on to his stained t-shirt. He hadn't cared about that in a long time. It was a damn apocalypse, and he definitely wasn't like Nick.

"What's wrong with you? That's a pretty deep wound, kid. You should get it covered. Now shut the fuck up and goddammit, let me help yo-" He was cut off by Coach's yelp of surprise, green eyes widening as a jockey leaped on to the black man's back, steering him straight into a spitter's acid. They'd never knock the jockey off in time. Instead, the older man grabbed on to the mechanic's arm and pulled him all the way to the safehouse, locking them in.

"C-Coach and Ro?" Ellis almost shrieked, falling on to his knees, dropping his gun and glaring bitterly at the floor. This was it. It was only the two of them now. They could either sink or swim, and with the way Ellis felt, he believed it'd be the latter.

"Yeah, they're dead. Look, it'll be fine. We'll finish this up. We aren't going to let their deaths be in vain, kid, and you know it." Though his words were meant to be comforting, Ellis couldn't help but feel anger, vision blurring with hot tears. He stood, throwing whatever harmless thing he could find at the elder man.

"It'll be fine?! What about this will be fine, huh? Tell me!" His body was shaking, breathing heavy and ragged, face scarlet with anger.

"Ellis, calm do-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down! Excuse me for carin' 'bout someone other than myself!" His chest heaved, begging him for air that he quite blatantly refused to give. His hands clenched into fists that shook so violently, his jaw tight. Nick looked utterly confused and perhaps a tad scared. Christ, what was wrong with the kid?

"Woah, El, stop. Sure I care. I do. I just…I realized that not all of us would make it." Knowing the words stung the hick, he moved closer, arms wrapping around that waist he had always longed to hold. Of course, this wasn't the right time, but it was now or never, right?

"But you and I can still go on, can't we? And honestly, kid, I'm glad I'm stuck with you." Blue eyes met green ones, cloudy and full of confusion.

"Yer lyin' to me…" His voice was weak, strained from the yelling and the sobs. Nick shook his head.

"I am not lying to you, Ellis. I mean it." His words were sealed with a kiss, rough lips hungrily devouring plump pink ones. But just as fast as the kiss had started, it ended. A large fist broke open the door to the safehouse, heavy steel plowing into Nick's side and knocking him to the ground. Ellis let out an angry shriek, grabbing up his shotgun, cocking it and pulling the trigger.

Yes, he knew he was fool for believing that would ever stop the tank from stomping about and destroying them. He didn't care anymore. He wasn't going out without a fight. Quickly, he dodged one of the flinging fists and ran outside, continuing to shoot at the tank. Once out of bullets, he grabbed his fire axe in a stupid attempt to finish it off.

He was one lucky son of a bitch for that to have affectively killed the tank. Sucking in a deep breath, he started back towards the safehouse, stopping when he saw Nick limping out and hearing a witch's cry nearby.

"Ni-Nick no…!" But it was too late. The witch was startled and was already running at Nick. Ellis tried. He tried so damn hard, but to no avail. By the time he had gotten there with his axe, the witch had sliced through Nick's neck.

Anger coiled through his body, ripping through his throat in a loud yelp of torment. His axe kept cutting through the witch, chopping her up until there was nothing left of her. He fell to his knees then, bringing Nick's head into his lap and holding a firm, trembling hand over the gushing wound.

"C-carry on, okay? Yo-You're….you're gonna be fine, k-kid." His pale lips, becoming stained with ruby blood, upturned into a slight smile. Ellis opened his mouth to speak, to tell Nick that he loved him, to comfort him, but it was too late. Nick's emerald eyes had fallen shut, ceasing his breathing.

"I love you…" His words were gentle, quiet as though saying them too loud would cause everything to shatter around him. Salty tears poured from his eyes, cascading down his cheeks, and soaking the now blood-stained white suit below him. He leaned down, shaking lips pressing against a scarred forehead. His heart was heavy, weighed down with pain, guilt, and shame. On unstable legs, he stood and started off alone. If he were lucky, a special infected would find him.

Man, did this country-boy have some luck.

On his journey, a smoker had grabbed him from behind, wrapping him up in that sick tongue and pulling him back, only stopping when a hunter was heard. Ellis never once struggled. He only accepted the suffocating tongue and the clawing of his head and torso. He just waited patiently, disgustingly patiently, until his head fell back, and those baby blue eyes closed shut for the last time.

So much for carrying on.


End file.
